Without him
by TheVillageOfBree
Summary: The rain fell, hard and unyielding, splattered against the windowpane and flooded the streets. But something in the rain caught her eye. A black coat, a purple scarf, blue eyes. *implied one sided Sherlock/OC* *Post Reichenbach*


**Title comes from 'On my own' from Les Mis. **

**This story is written from the point of view from an unnamed OC and reflects on the aftermath of The Reichenbach Fall. So major spoilers for season 2. Obviously. **

**I'm planning on writing a series of oneshots revolving around the woman in this story, that is. if people enjoy this one.**

**Go forth and read!**

* * *

She looked out the window and into the pouring rain. Watched as droplets of water slid down the glass and hit the ground below. Her once bright eyes dull and cold.  
She was lost, lonely, unimportant...stupid.  
The young woman sitting atop a table in Speedy's cafe wiped the tears from her eyes and rubbed her hands on her apron, she was supposed to be locking up soon. But she couldn't.

Any second now. She thought to herself. Any second now he'll run out of the flat next door and hail a cab, or he'll run past the store in an attempt to get out of the rain, if she was lucky, he might even come inside for a cuppa.  
Unlikely.  
He never did that. Every now and again his flat mate would pop around for a sandwich and she would sit on the counter, asking what he and his colleague had been getting up to. He'd laugh and question her interest, but then he'd tell her anyway. She loved the stories, hearing all about the brilliance of the two men living across from her store and the cases they solved.  
She quickly realized that would never happen again.

A grim look appeared on her youthful face and another tear slid down her cheek as she watched the rain from her window.  
Never again would she see his face, except in the newspaper articles hung around her room. He was wearing the hat in almost all of them.  
A small smile appeared on her face. He hated that hat.  
She often wondered how the people next door were fairing, the doctor and his landlady. Did they feel the way she did? _Cold, lost, meaningless._ Did they feel worse?  
The young woman had often considered going around to visit, but never did. It would hurt. She knew it would.  
A choked sob escaped her lips and the rain outside the window turned into hail, it pounded on the roof and rolled around the ground.  
_Cold, lost, meaningless._  
She took a deep breath and muttered that she needed to hold herself together, one month and she still hadn't fallen apart, one month without him and she was still there. She shouldn't have felt this way, he never even spoke to her, other than that one time when he ordered some raisin toast for breakfast and when they first met on the tube. His voice still reverberated through her ears, that deep, rich, baritone. That voice she had only heard twice but would forever be imprinted into her mind.  
What was wrong with her?

Her eyes -reddened from tears- drifted once again to window. The rain fell, hard and unyielding, splattered against the windowpane and flooded the streets.  
But something in the rain caught her eye.

A black coat, a purple scarf, blue eyes.

Without even a second thought, the young woman ran out into the rain, the ringing of the bell above the door growing quieter and quieter the further she ran. Her clothes were wet and she was soaked to the bone within a matter of seconds.

"Mr Holmes." She muttered.

The man began to walk away.

"Mr Holmes?"

She picked up speed, slipping and falling flat on her face, scraping up her hands and knees but she pulled herself up and continued running.  
"Mr Holmes!"  
All her feelings bubbled up inside her; it took all her energy not to scream.  
"Sherlock?!"  
He didn't stop walking.  
He didn't turn around.  
She stopped running, and suddenly everything around her stopped, her whole world froze.  
It was him.  
It had to be him.  
He was alive.  
She knew he was.  
He had to be.

Just as the man began to turn the corner she took a deep breath and with every bit of hope left in her she screamed.  
"SHERLOCK!"

But nothing happened.  
The man turned the corner without even looking her way, the young woman's breath was strained and her heart was beating fast. Her eyes pleaded him to come back, sweep her up in his arms and tell her everything was okay. But he didn't.  
The rain dripped from her hair down onto her apron and suddenly she felt cold. She was standing in the middle of the road, her arms wrapped around her, in a fruitless attempt to stay warm.  
"Sherlock..." She whispered as the realization hit her. He was gone, really, truly gone. He would never walk past again, never come into her store, never solve crimes, never. Exist.  
And no matter how hard she tried, how much she believed. He would never come back.  
The emotions she had been holding in for the past month began to escape as she walked past 221b Baker Street and through her front door.

She was wrong.  
He was gone.


End file.
